


if my heart was a house you'd be home

by skullcrow (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender Character, Casual Ableism, Coffeeshop AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other, Soulmate AU, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/skullcrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a coffeeshop au/soulmate au of fluffyblue7's and my ocs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if my heart was a house you'd be home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maureenbrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maureenbrown/gifts).



> lana larron belongs to fluffyblue7
> 
> demesne maverick, flavius grace, and jessica finnick are mine, as well as the other quartet in the coffee shop and the boy between the trio
> 
> the siblings of the trio belong to tinygladers

Demi and Lana meet when they are both eight years old, each with three sentences on their body, each with their own set of problems.

Demesne is still under the unfitting title of "girl," their dark hair a curly halo around their head. Their parents drink into the late hours of the night, their parents beat them when they are inebriated; they are not the bombastic, cheerful young adult that goes around petting stray cats ten years into the future. They are chubby, quiet, and they don't fit in—a death sentence for those of their age and onwards. They have one source of comfort: the three soulmarks tattooed onto their dark skin, meaning that, one day, they'll have three people to reassure them, to validate them, to protect them.

  1. " _Oh my gosh, you're my soulmate!_ " written in childish, 2nd-grade handwriting around their neck like a noose;
  2. " _Hi, you dropped this,_ " in neat cursive inscribed onto their inner forearm;
  3. And, finally, " _I like your hair,_ " in awkward handwriting scrawled onto their calf.



It's not strange for people to have more than one soulmate. It's not strange for them to have a soulmate the same gender as them. What  _is_ strange is when you don't think you're the gender assigned to you at birth, like they do, acutely. (or when you pair with someone who isn't your soulmate, but the thought doesn't cross Demi's mind until years down the road.) They, with the innocence of the young child they are, had offhandedly mentioned this to their parents—and the consequences had been drastic.

So now, here they are at school, an eight-year-old with bruises on their body and three sets of words engraved into their skin.

Lana is parentless. Nobody knows what happened for them to disappear, and Lana will take that secret to the grave, along with three other people whose words pair with her own. She's a little strange, a little morbid, as young children can be with the insouciant cheeriness of youth. She possesses a wild imagination and a fiery temper—her virtues and her flaws both. They had been the reason why this is her fourth school in a year. Her words are three, as well.

  1. " _Hi, I'm Demi,_ " in the middle of her chest.
  2. " _You must be Lana,_ " wrapped around her wrist.
  3. " _H-hi, I'll have a white chocolate mocha, if you're okay with that,_ " dancing on the skin of her shoulder blades.



She frequently passes her hands over the words with reverence, like a zealous priest holding in their hands a faded manuscript of an ancient prophecy.

She waits outside the classroom door, boredom overtaking her as she taps her feet on the floor. Eventually, the doors open, and the teacher's, "I'd like you to meet our new student, Lana Larron," signals her entrance. She walks in, intense eyes scanning the faces of everyone in the room, and she holds her hand up in a halfhearted wave as is expected of her. The teacher smiles, fake and wide, and gestures her to a seat beside a dark-skinned once-a-girl whose eyes are staring down at their desk.

She slips beside them, gazing curiously at them, until they lift their head.

"Hi, I'm Demi."

Her eyes widen at the words, growing still and silent. "Oh my gosh," she hisses finally, "you're my soulmate!"

Demi freezes, small, fat arms gripping the edge of their desk, as they slowly turn to look at Lana full in the face. Their mouth is open in shock, their breathing quick and dizzying, and they say, "You're my—" They don't finish, because Lana nods furiously and pulls down the neck of her shirt to reveal the three words on her chest. Demi wordlessly pulls back their mane of hair to show her own mark, and for once, they smile, big and wide, and see their own expression on Lana's face.

"We're gonna stick together, aren't we?" Demi asks at recess after class is over, sitting beside their soulmate with a shy smile.

"Forever," Lana decides firmly. "And we're gonna find our other soulmates, and we're gonna stay together!"

The teachers don't know why Lana Larron is strangely well-behaved throughout her entire time at school, but they suspect it has something to do with Demesne Maverick tagging along after her all the time.

* * *

Jessica meets Flavius when she's fourteen, tagging along at her father's heels because her mother is hanging out with celebrities in Italy, and no one is available to take care of the rebellious teenage daughter of the multimillionaire CEO of a massive company. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, and she's wearing brand-name clothing: a crisp white sweater with a wine red skirt. She screams wealthy party animal, but she is no party animal. She's an antisocial book nerd whose pretty looks and expensive dresses are whispered in every newspaper in America, as well as speculations about her soulmarks, hidden under a veil of foundation.

> " _Hello,_ "

is in awkward script running along the back of her hand,

> " _Oh, thank you,_ "

is written in careless handwriting across her heart,

> " _You're our other other soulmate, aren't you? I'm so happy to meet you, Demi's told me so much about you! Oh my god, you're really hot, can I just say that?_ "

is in almost illegible chickenscratch on her back.

She finds herself waiting on the couch of some celebrity's mansion, clicking her heels on the tiles while voices drift down the stairs. A yell causes her to flinch, the makeup-hidden bruises on her body twinging in remembrance, and a sad-looking Latino boy with dark-rimmed rectangular glasses slouches down the steps with a book in his hands. He keeps pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, keeps running a hand over his shoulder, (she thinks his parents hit him) and keeps tossing the book from hand to hand. He sits down on the couch opposite her, opening the book and pretending to read while Jessica stares at him.

"Hello," he finally says reluctantly, though he doesn't look up at her.

"What'cha reading there, champ?" she returns airily.

He freezes. "What did you say?"

She raises a brow, growing frostier and frostier towards this strange boy as the seconds tick by. "What?"

He doesn't say anything, just pulls the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal—

> " _What'cha reading there, champ?_ "

on his shoulder, written in her neat cursive handwriting.

"You are not," Jessica says instantly.

"I am," he says meekly, shrinking backwards as if expecting a blow.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she says in a gentler voice. "How many do you have?"

"Three," he says, folding his hands in his lap as he sets aside his book. Before she can question him any further, their fathers are going down the stairs, exchanging coldly polite words and condescending hopes of working together more closely in the near future.

"Come along, Jessica," Mr Finnick says, carelessly gesturing for her to follow him. She stands up, glancing between her father and the boy, torn between rebelling again (and suffering the consequences later) or meekly acquiescing to her father's commands. But she doesn't have to choose.

"She's my soulmate," the Rutherford boy suddenly blurts out, and the room goes still and silent as they all turn to look at him.

"Which one, Flavius?" Mr Rutherford says in a falsely cheerful voice, breaking the tense silence.

Flavius fidgets with the edges of his shirt, avoiding everyone's eyes. " ' _What'cha reading there, champ?_ ' " he states quietly.

Their fathers meet each other's gazes.

"It seems we will be working together very closely after all," Mr Finnick says with a courteous smile.

"Indeed," the other replies, looking strained. " 'Til next time, Finnick?"

"Good day, Rutherford," Mr Finnick says, and ushers Jessica out the door.

He shows her his other soulmarks the next time they meet, in the fancy mansion of the Finnicks', left alone to speak in private within the confines of a comfortable living room filled with baleful-eyed portraits of ancestors and garishly designed vases.

> " _Flavius, right?_ "

in the same careless handwriting on his ankle.

> " _What do you want?_ "

in the same illegible chickenscratch on his ribcage.

She reveals her own, brushing off the makeup with almost gleeful abandon, forgetting the bruises.

"Jessica?" he says carefully, holding her name in her mouth like it's made of glass. He traces a finger around the welts on her back. "What are these?"

She considers lying for a moment, then tells him the truth, and the horror on his face is briefly replaced by something even more terrifying: empathy.

"What about you?" she asks, and when he doesn't answer, she says, more insistently, "Tell me, Flav."

"They say I'm worthless," he mumbles almost inaudibly after a long silence. "They tell me I'll be a failure. They tell me I'm stupid. They tell me I'm worthless."

She gently takes the thirteen-year-old boy in her arms and tells him he's worth the universe.

* * *

Demi's eighteen, living in the same house with their girlfriend, far away from their abusive parents, and they still don't feel like a girl. They don't tell Lana, because they're afraid she might leave them, call them a freak, even if the rational part of their mind is saying that she's too lovely of a person to do that. But the paranoid part tells them that she's capricious, she's easy to anger, she hates them she hates them she hates them—

They find themselves scrolling mindlessly down their Tumblr dashboard, half-asleep and hungry as the sun rises above them. Lana is currently away, working at the coffee shop to support them as best she can. Not to mention, college is a pain in the ass and they need to distract themself from the stress, and the various pictures of puppies and kittens are very therapeutic.

Then they come across a single word.

_Agender._

It's like a key sliding into a lock as they connect with the definition, find themself relating to countless agender people, question their identity for weeks on end until they discover that, no, they're not a girl. They are genderless. They are agender. They are who they are.

But what will Lana say?

On the ten-year anniversary of their meeting, they take Lana out into a somewhat-fancy restaurant, wearing simple white pants and a simple white sweater, while Lana looks radiant in a navy blue dress. Throughout the whole ordering process, they keep nervously running a hand through their mohawk-style magenta-and-lime-dyed hair, glancing at Lana frequently. Halfway through their food, they suddenly can't take the churning in their gut anymore and they blurt out, "Can I tell you something?"

Lana is understanding.

Lana is a beautiful person.

Lana accepts them.

Lana calls them "babe" rather than "girlfriend," calls them "they" rather than "she," calls them a "person," rather than a "girl."

And god, Demi has never been happier.

* * *

Flavius is nineteen years old and walking towards a coffee shop to motivate him for another long day of doing homework on the weekends. Since his parents died three years ago, he's been in the care of two lesbian ladies, soulmates since children. Angelica Grace communicates through sign language, likes making pancakes, and teaches horse-riding lessons. Pia Grace gets around in a wheelchair, crushes on way too many Marvel ladies, and owns far too many cats. The cats aren't a huge problem, but it gets a little annoying when he visits, because he has to watch his step, lest he step on a tail and walk around with minor scratches for a few days.

He and Jessica are living quite comfortably in their own house. He inherited all his parents' money, and Jessica, being a fellow rich kid, has her pockets full as well. It hasn't stopped him from being incredibly kind and compassionate, however, and Jessica's as wonderful as usual, despite their occasional obliviousness to less lucky people's plights. They try, though, gently corrected and informed by his new mothers.

As he enters the cafe, a blonde boy his age rushes past him, nearly knocking him to the ground. The boy turns his blue eyes towards Flavius, shrugs, and carries on. Flavius sighs and moves on from the incident, getting in line. He takes a moment to observe the people in the cafe; the quartet in the corner laughing and joking, the dark-haired girl's eyes flashing in dark amusement as she leans beside the short-haired person beside her and reaches over to steal a doughnut from a dark-skinned girl with dreadlocks, who turns to look at a tan girl with a plea in her eyes; the trio poking fun at each other near the middle, two of them looking like siblings as a boy with black hair grins shyly from between them; the various couples gazing joyfully into each other's eyes, drinking in each others' sights and sounds and scents.

The person behind him grunts and he hastily moves to the front of the line, shooting an apologetic look behind him. He adjusts his glasses and turns to face the dark-haired, harried-looking girl before him.

"What do you want," she grumbles, looking pained.

Flavius pushes his glasses up his nose nervously and blurts out, "H-hi, I'll have a white chocolate mocha, if you're okay with that."

She stares at him, mouth wide open in shock.

"I-I'm sorry, wh-what did I—" Flavius shuts up as he suddenly remembers the soulmark on his ribcage.

"Holy goddamn shit motherfucker," the girl sputters out. "You're my other fuckin' soulmate? Jesus fucking Christ on a stick, oh my god, you are, aren't you?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers out, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, wait, you probably want your coffee. Uh, sit down, I'll—I'll get it to you in a bit." The girl bustles busily away before Flavius can stop her, so he resigns himself to hunkering down in a corner. Eventually, she comes by, carrying his coffee in her hands.

"Hi," she says.

"Um, I'm Flavius," he offers awkwardly.

She grins. "Lana. Lana Larron." Then her smile fades to be replaced by a troubled look. "I've—uh—I've got another soulmate."

"So do I."

"I—well—I can introduce you to them in a few days, if you come by again?"

"Them?" he questions.

"They're agender. Their pronouns are they/them." She's giving him a wary look.

"Oh. All right."

She relaxes visibly. "Okay, good. See you then?"

"See you then."

* * *

At the same time, Demi is rushing towards the library, homework tucked under their arm and their bag slung carelessly over their shoulder. Their brightly colored hair is catching people's eyes, but they don't care, busy as they are with thoughts of college and fears of failure. So they obviously don't notice when they drop their pen, instead pushing on. They can see the library doors just a few feet away, but their progress is stopped by a hand on their shoulder.

"Hi, you dropped this," a light voice says, placing their pen in their hand.

"Oh, thank you," they reply, making to move away, but then they stop, slowly turning around to face the speaker. "What did you say?"

A tall girl, blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, scrutinizes them with piercing blue-grey eyes. "I'm assuming that means I'm your soulmate."

"Hell yeah," Demi says, unable to keep a grin off their face. "Oh—but I have two more, one that I've already found. And, uh. I'm agender. Genderless. They/them pronouns." Tense, they wait for the prejudice/confusion-mix bomb to drop.

"Ah. I'll keep that in mind. I'm female, she/her. And I have two other soulmates as well, although you and another are the only ones I've found."

Oh.

That isn't so bad.

"My name's Demi," they say, feeling happier as they look up into the attractive girl's face. She's over a head taller than they are, while Lana is just a mite shorter than them.

The girl smiles. "Jessica. Jess is fine."

"Do you . . . " Dazed, they shake their head and try to gather their thoughts. "Do you want my number?"

"Sure. That would be nice, Demi."

* * *

Five weeks later, curled up side-by-side on a couch in Jessica and Flavius's house, the four soulmates are curled up on a couch. Demi's head is resting on Jessica's shoulder, and Lana is snuggled up next to Flavius. Jessica and Flavius link their arms around each other and gaze at the screen, a mildly amusing TV show playing. They remember when Flavius finally meets Demi and it's mostly awkwardness until Flavius blurts out, "I like your hair." They remember when Lana jumped up and down at the sight of Jessica, letting out a stream of first words that stops as soon as Jessica says, "You must be Lana," in tone of amused exasperation. They remember the first time they went on a date and ended up accidentally setting pet store dogs free. They remember all the unspoken words and the gentle kisses and meaningful hugs and even if that's all they have so far, it's amazing, and they never want to let it go.

So they don't.

They just hug each other tighter and hope for the best.


End file.
